


Rainbow

by ourdancingdays



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdancingdays/pseuds/ourdancingdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven Weasleys who weren't Sorted into Gryffindor, and one who wasn't Sorted at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Azure

Molly Weasley is  _beautiful_.

There's no other word for it. She is contradictory and perfect and useless and brilliant. She's that perfect shade of azure that captivates and compels and  _sickens you_. She's beautiful.

She wakes one morning to her Hogwarts letter; all cream coloured parchment and swirly emerald writing and full of all those promises. Molly cries and she laughs, and her mother stares at her, and asks,  _"What, did you think you weren't getting one?"_

Her father doesn't say anything but a stiff congratulations, but Molly doesn't mind.

She twirls around her room on light feet, and dances over to her trunk and packs a thousand more times. She checks her reflection in the mirror, stares at her auburn, fly-away curls and resents them slightly. But she brushes that feeling off, because she's Molly Weasley, and she's  _going to Hogwarts_ , so she doesn't have time to ponder over cynical thoughts.

Molly hops onto the big red steam train, and they all wave her off. She's not the first Weasley - not by a mile - but it's the last year with no Potters at Hogwarts, so Molly decides to make the most of it. She finds a carriage and some new friends who all think they're going to be Gryffindors too.

Her new friends were right; they  _are_  Gryffindors.

Molly is not.

The Hat touches her head and calls out, " _RAVENCLAW_!" before she has any chance to argue; any chance to say,  _‘No, you must have made some mistake. I'm Molly Weasley; Molly Weasley. I can't be a Ravenclaw, Mr Hat, sir, I really just can't. There must have been a mistake.’_

But after all, Molly's just a pretty little afterthought, and she's not worth the discussion.

She walks over to the Ravenclaw table, and she can still see Victoire staring at her from across the room, in all her Gryffindor glory, and Molly feels so small in her Ravenclaw rags. Even Teddy, lovely Teddy, looks a little disappointed.

Still, Molly's not one for showing her feelings, so she laughs and she jokes with the other Ravenclaws, and waves shyly to the Scamander brothers across from her. They wave back, with identical grins, and she thinks that maybe she belongs here.

When Molly returns home for the summer, the family's a bit awkward around her - she's the second oldest Weasley, you see, and not even Gryffindor?

Something's gone wrong.

But they're nice enough and little Lucy still holds out her arms for a hug when Molly comes through the door, but she's too young to understand. She can only just say  _Mowy_ , let alone  _Ravenclaw traitor._

.

Back on the train again, she talks quietly with her friend Blanca, a lovely Spanish Muggleborn girl who's still trying to get her head around Quidditch. It's almost normal, to be back in that carriage, and even when the Scamander twins burst in, all Molly can do is laugh and show them her brand new azure ballet shoes from her grandmother.

They don't know what ballet is, of course, but she doesn't mind. Lysander even asks her for a dance.

James Potter is sorted into Gryffindor.

Molly spends her second year practising imperfect pirouettes in abandoned classrooms, and working on her dance routines. She breaks her ankle half way through the final term, and Lysander finds her and takes her to the Hospital Wing, but Madame Delacour patches her up in a jiffy, as long as she promises to lay off the dancing for a while. She doesn't.

Lysander takes away Molly's favourite azure ballet shoes, but it doesn't stop her. Molly doesn't have anything compared to her family's fame, to her family’s Gryffindor gold, and maybe she's jealous. Maybe she's just Molly Weasley, and it's not in her to be normal.

She stops going to family reunions, where the eyes are too harsh or avoid her altogether. Nobody can talk about the empty seat at the table that is no longer filled.

.

Third year means Molly's first boyfriend, and her first kiss - little Eddie Bateson, a blond, halfblood boy with a pretty smile and wide brown eyes. Molly kind-of-almost-maybe loves him.

But it doesn't last, of course, and passes swiftly, and Molly can't really say that she misses it. She kind-of-almost-maybe just liked him, anyway. She doesn't know what love feels like; how could she, after all? She's only thirteen.

Her mother offers to pay for Muggle ballet lessons over the summer, even though Daddy disagrees.

“We’re not raising a Muggle,” he argues with her, late at night around the kitchen table. He paces – he always paces, he’s never still, and Molly thinks that’s where she got it from – and Mum stares him down.

“I never said we were,” she answers calmly. “It’s something she wants to do. It’s good for her.”

Daddy snorts, and pushes his glasses further up his nose. “If she wants to get into the Ministry, she needs to start paying attention in class, she needs to be a candidate for Prefect –” Her mum tries to argue but he cuts her off. “No, Audrey. We’re not raising – we’re not raising a –”

“Not raising a _what?”_ Mum asks, ice in her voice. Molly tiptoes back upstairs.

.

In the Christmas of her fourth year, Molly has her first performance, in a little Muggle theatre in a town just outside of London.

She shines on the stage, and she almost  _belongs_  there, behind heavy red curtains and in front of thundering applause. Molly has found her home, amongst dance rehearsals and background lights, and she  _loves it._

Her dad, though, is less than pleased, and he thinks that she could do so much more than just dancing for Muggles on a wooden stage with mediocre lighting and sore feet. But he doesn’t understand, and Molly loves every part of it.

 _"No, Dad, I won't work at the Ministry with you,_ " and,  _"No, Mum, I don't want to try out for the Quidditch team."_

Lucy still asks Molly to play with her dolls, though, and gives her the princess with the azure dress as she holds the one in the jade.

Molly's good with Lucy, and she knows it. She's always had younger cousins, after all - when Lucy is born, Molly's nine and already has nine younger cousins. It's hard, growing up in a family like theirs.

But it's worth it.

.

By the end of the first term in her fifth year, Molly gains a little bit of a reputation.

It's all only rumours, of course, because Molly's a Ravenclaw and she knows better than to feed the fire, but there's gossip spreading all the same. There’s a list that says she has the best tits, and since then, boys think it’s okay to grab her when she walks past, slap her as she bends over her cauldron. She’s only fifteen.

_"And did you know, pretty Molly Weasley was caught in bed with her cousin's boyfriend, her best friend's boyfriend, her enemy's boyfriend, the gamekeeper, the Quidditch instructor, the Potions teacher..."_

Of course, it doesn't last.

She doesn't know how these rumours started. Lysander pleads with her to ignore them, but Molly is determined to be the one to stop them. She settles down with a steady boyfriend, Lukas Macmillan, and it almost lasts the whole year.

Her father's happy –  _"He's a nice lad, good for you, that one. I'm proud"_  – and her mother's excited – _"Oh, and I can't wait to meet him, Molly; I still remember introducing Percy to your grandparents!"_  – and Lucy's confused –  _"But, why would you want to kiss a_ boy _?"_

And Molly's over-the-moon, because Lukas is handsome and he's kind, and he's so unlike all those other boys that came before him -  _but shh, don't tell!_

But then they start to argue. He’s so passionate, more Gryffindor than Ravenclaw, and sometimes he can’t contain it. He shakes her and shouts at her, and just once, he slaps her. Molly walks away and she does not look back, but she never tells anyone why.

Lysander probs and probes, but she doesn’t give in. Even he stops trying.

.

In sixth year, she doesn't try so hard. Her grades drop, and she knows it, and her friends dwindle away, scared to be hexed like Blanca was when she suggested she was too much of a slut for a boy like Lukas – Molly does know  _something_ , after all - and no boys ask her to Hogsmeade anymore.

Molly doesn't feel very beautiful. It's like there's a little raincloud above her head, and no one can bear to go near her without an umbrella to protect them.

She stops dancing.

One day, the last day of her sixth year, she opens her trunk to find a bouquet inside.

It's very pretty; little white roses tied with a little blue bow and -

Two perfectly miniature azure ballet shoes hang from the ribbon, glinting mysteriously, with that little extra bit of (magic) sparkle. Molly walks slowly down into the common room, and Lysander waves at her from the crowd. She takes a slow, ironic bow, and jumps into his arms.

He’s taken down his umbrella.

Over the summer, Molly decides to give one final performance, and it's her favourite, so she dances her little heart out. Her azure dress shines under the mediocre lighting, and the dancers she's kind-of-almost-maybe friends with give their all around her too.

It's their best dance yet, and they know it.

Molly has a fake beam on her face and is panting heavily by the end, her toes -  _good toes, naughty toes, good toes, naughty toes_  - aching and her heart pounding. Somebody throws a bouquet and, in surprise, Molly catches it. Lysander grins at her from the crowd, and she grins back.

.

Seventh year begins, and as Molly stumbles in the Scamanders' carriage, a big grin on her face and her hair tied back in an azure bow, Lorcan shouts, “Molly’s back!”

And a few of her old friends that she neglected in sixth year pop their heads in and grin at her, and Blanca asks where she's been, and doesn't she know that Mummy Lorcan has been worried sick, and why couldn't she have sent a postcard?

(It turns out that Molly's ex-boyfriend Lukas has a looser tongue than fist, and Blanca thoroughly cursed him when he admitted what he said. What he did.)

Which is all pretty brilliant, actually, but then Lysander kisses her, and that's even better.

Seventh year passes in a twirl of NEWTs and kisses and friendships, and Molly cries her heart out when they leave Hogwarts for the last time. On their last day, though, she punches Lukas in the jaw, kisses not-so-little Eddie on the cheek, and gets on the Hogwarts Express hand in hand with Lysander.

.

Molly graduates and works her robes off, dancing all hours of the day and night, and spending the rest of her time with Lysander. Lorcan travels the world, Blanca plays professional Quidditch, and Lucy starts Hogwarts.

She becomes a renowned dancer; both in the Muggle world and the Wizarding, and they all say,  _that Molly Weasley, she's really something, isn't she?_

Lysander comes and sees her perform, and when Molly gives up full-time dancing – inevitably, it seems, because no one can dance and hide forever – she trains little Wizarding girls and boys. She watches her family crash and burn, but she makes cups of tea and tries to keep them laughing. There’s not much more she can do.

Dad is happy for her - though he still drops hints about the Ministry - and Mum is happier for her - and she stops dropping off Quidditch magazines - and Lucy is just happy. Right?

Lysander and the family take Molly to her first proper Quidditch game after one of her debut performances, on the 29th of February - Roxanne's fiancé's playing, a Chaser for the Appleby Arrows. Molly proposes to Lysander there and then.

He says yes, and the Appleby fans shout as one of the players dressed in azure scores. All her family - and Lorcan, of course - hug her and cheer and the noise is lost in the crowd.

In the end, they're Molly and Lysander Scamander, and in their own way,  _they're beautiful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is currently being subtly reworked, so please check back for updates on its edits. This chapter is: REVISED.


	2. Amber

Roxanne Weasley is a  _firework_.

She's bright and blaring and she stands out from the crowd; she shines in shades of amber and  _oh_ , how she shines.

She plays pranks on her father – George Weasley, bested only by the best – and laughs with her brother – Freddie Weasley the Second, just second best – and she is a whirlwind of colour and light. She is Roxanne Weasley, after all; she's the best.

Roxanne gets on the train with her dark brown hair tied up in a scarlet bow – Gryffindor runs in their family, don't you know? – and her ruby shoes laced to perfection – Gryffindor runs in her veins, don't you know?

But the Hat still calls out, " _HUFFLEPUFF_!"

So Roxanne doesn't back down – why should she? – and she wins points for Hufflepuff, and loses them too, and does it in a whirlwind of amber. Her mind is racetrack-fast and she will not be put down by this.

She's Roxanne Weasley, and she loves a challenge.

Her dad's disappointed – though she's not the first 'Puff, and she won't be the last – and her mum hides her guilt – thinks she could've done better – and Freddie doesn't care one bit because he loves her, remember?

But she belongs in Hufflepuff – Roxanne will always belong amongst yellow and black, ebony and amber – and even if she chooses not to come home for that first Christmas, it's okay, because remember; 'Puffs look after their own.

Roxanne goes home the summer after her first year, and she feels a tad disheartened, because her room is red, and it reminds her that her dormitory is not.

So she asks Dominique to help her paint her room, and she spells patterns onto her walls with a paintbrush. She makes the walls black, and adds fireworks of gold and white and amber. Dominique brushes her auburn hair behind her hair, and tells her to keep her head up.

It's the first time Roxanne thinks that paints can look pretty.

.

The summer flies by in a rush of art classes and easels, and before she knows it, Roxanne is back on that big red train, heading back to her black and yellow home.

Her friends think she's a bit different; a bit calmer, maybe, kinder. She's found a ‘ _creative outlet’_ as her therapist recommended when she was nine. Roxanne's found something she can  _do_ , rather than mimic her father's pranks and parrot back her mother's jokes.

Roxanne carries around her sketchbook all the time now; she always keeps a pencil behind one ear and a quill behind the other.

She's sent to Headmistress McGonagall after she doesn't pay attention in Charms for the third time in a row; instead, she draws the amber spells as they hit the small, glass vases on the tables.

Professor Flitwick ended up less than amused.

"Miss Weasley," the Headmistress greets her. Roxanne keeps her head down, her fingers fiddling with the quill behind her ear. It catches in her hair; she doesn't notice. McGonagall watches her as she pours some tea on the tray set out on her desk.

"Headmistress," Roxanne murmurs. She's no stranger to trouble, really. She just couldn't bare it if someone took away her sketchbook.

"May I see your drawing?" Roxanne splutters, but nods, and daintily hands over her sketchbook.

In the picture, the amber is a subtle contrast to the white of the paper, but she likes it. The ebony colour of the wand in the foreground is captivating.It's probably her best piece of work, and she's just handing it over.

"That's extraordinary," McGonagall compliments her, turning the drawing on its side. "Quite extraordinary." She looks into Roxanne's eyes. "Maybe you could utilize your talents outside of the Charms classroom, perhaps? Professor Flitwick does like to make sure all his students know basic spells. He gets really quite offended if they don't try."

Roxanne nods, and is, quite frankly, just a little scared.

After all, McGonagall has lived through three wars, and singlehandedly taken down more Death Eaters than she could probably count herself.

"Well, good luck with your art, Miss Weasley. Perhaps you could send a picture back to Professor Flitwick, as an apology? Not this one, but perhaps a nice landscape? Filius always complains about not having enough colour in his office. Do try not to hurry back, Miss Weasley."

McGonagall looks at her pointedly. "You are allowed to leave."

Roxanne jumps out of her chair, and practically runs to the door, clutching her sketchbook for dear life.

Christmas rolls around again, and this time, Roxanne goes home.

Her bedroom hasn't been touched, which she's thankful for, but she's found that Freddie has painted his own walls black and white too.

"I'm going to add colour once I'm Sorted," he tells Roxanne secretively, once Mum and Dad have packed away the Christmas dinner, and are cuddling on the threadbare sofa. "I think blue would go quite well. Or maybe yellow."

Roxanne's never been so proud of her little brother.

.

Her second year goes quickly, just spells and tests and  _don't do this_  and  _don't do that_ , and the next summer is even more uneventful that the first.

But when Roxanne returns for her third year, she waits with baited breath for the name  _Weasley_  to be called again. It's been called twice, in fact, since Roxanne's time at Hogwarts, but the third almost overrides the other two anyway.

" _GRYFFINDOR_!"

Freddie shoots her an apologetic look, then turns to the Gryffindor table that screams and shouts and roars in applause. He looks quite sad. Roxanne knows that when people think,  _Fred Weasley: Gryffindor_ , they certainly don't think of little  _Freddie Weasley the Second_ , do they?

Her third year is a blur of Divination balls and amber stars, and Roxanne almost loves it. Almost.

Nothing changes much, but Freddie goes by Fred now.

(So she goes by Roxy; it's only right.)

.

Fourth year means her first "boyfriend" – the Ravenclaw Matty Finnigan, coincidently – and her first _proper, full-out_  crush – the Gryffindor Charlotte Goldstein, ironically – and also her first kiss. (She still won't say who.)

Roxy spends the summer working in her dad's shop, and she hates it; people expect her to revel in pranks like her father and uncle once did, and yes, maybe she did once, too, but now she's just Roxy. She finds pranks tedious and not-quite-hilarious, but they all disagree as they ponder over love potions and the new range of Sickening Sweets.

.

"Roxy," her friend, Mariella, asks softly once they return for their fifth year. "Roxy, we're going to be sitting our OWLs in a few months. You need to study, not draw. We don't do art at Hogwarts."

But Roxy doesn't care much; she loves her drawing and she  _will not give up._ Maybe that's what got her into Hufflepuff in the first place.

OWLs come and go in a flash of fury and colour and panic – which smells like vinegar and is the same murky brown – and when she's sixteen, Roxy re-does the walls of her bedroom.

Roxy paints with proper paints, this time, not just spells. She writes her favourite words –  _gold, amber, tragedy, secret, ironic, firework, challenge, star, whirlwind, subtle, Hufflepuff_  – and so many more, in different shades of yellow and black, silver and gold and bronze, and Roxy thinks it's quite beautiful.

Her mother walks into her room as she finishes the last word –  _Freddie_  – with a flick.

Angelina Weasley looks around the room, and then walks out, closing the door behind her. Roxy thinks she was smiling.

Pride tastes like soda bubbles and is the colour of amber.

.

Sixth year, Roxy discovers parties, and parties discover drinking.

Of course, she's not stupid. She knows the rules; drugs are bad, say no to drugs. She knows the science; they wear down your brain, your liver, your lungs. She knows what they can do; destroy, discourage,  _hurt_.

But sometimes alcohol is so  _brilliant_ , and Roxy's not  _addicted_ , no. She just likes all those colours they create, and the world seems so much brighter when she's on Firewhiskey. Her head is so much calmer. She no longer thinks in colour.

Fred catches her, of course, and he shouts and screams and she tells him  _he has no right_ , because he's a goddamn Gryffindor and what the hell would he know anyway? He's only fourteen, after all.

It’s only when she’s at a party, with boys older than her and girls who don’t look her way. It’s only when she needs to clear her head. It’s only when she bored – only when the words are swimming in front of her eyes –

it’s only –

only –

.

Seventh year, Roxy stops.

She stops going by Roxy. She stops the art. She doesn’t work as hard - like all good Hufflepuffs are supposed to do - and she doesn’t get the grades her firework mind deserves. Daddy's not exactly proud to have a 'Puff daughter, but Mummy doesn't feel guilty anymore.

(And Fred doesn't love her.)

Roxanne graduates from Hogwarts with two NEWTs and a promise of an apology apprenticeship at Gringotts with her Uncle Bill.

.

But, when she's nineteen, she meets up with tall, brown-haired Charlotte Goldstein. The girl wasn't really her friend, but Roxanne had a crush on for well over a year (not that Charlotte noticed, and anyway, Roxanne was just going through a phase.)

((Right?))

They talk over Butterbeer and amber Firewhiskey –  Charlotte's a top Quidditch player now, a Chaser on the reserve team of the Appleby Arrows – and they arrange to meet again. And again. And again.

Roxy kisses her on her twentieth birthday, gathering her courage like she couldn't do when she was fourteen. Charlotte kisses her back, and neither of them taste like alcohol.

(She goes by Roxy again).

Roxy starts up her art again, and she realises just how much she misses it. She moves in with Charlotte and tells her parents that she's found a boyfriend called Charlie, because Roxy’s already the disappointment compared to her popular Gryffindor brother.

Fred graduates Hogwarts with three mediocre NEWTs and a part-time job in their dad's shop.

She sells a few of her sketches, all black and white, and Roxy has never had that amount of money all at once. She makes a career out of it; leaves Gringotts and sets up an art studio. She’s almost famous, now. It's a nice feeling.

Roxy makes a poster for Charlotte's first proper Quidditch match - which they win - and Charlotte proposes.

She says yes, of course.

She tells Mariella, first – Mariella, who stood beside her when she was Roxanne, a little prankster discovering herself, and when she was Roxy, a rebel with one too many addictions who didn't know what she was doing.

And she stands beside her when she's Roxanne Weasley, an artist with a big heart and a fiancée and a life she loves.

Mariella is Roxy’s maid-of-honour, dressed in amber and white and gold.

Then she tells her cousins – all eleven of them, because Teddy counts too – who are shocked, of course, but demand tickets to Charlotte's next match and welcome her with open arms.

Roxy tells her parents.

Her dad despairs – though she's not the first not to continue the Weasley line, and she won't be the last – and her mum feels guilty – perhaps, she could have done better? – but they get over it. They always do.

She doesn't tell Fred. Fred, who's gone AWOL and doesn't speak to anyone in the family but James and Louis now. By unspoken oath, James and Louis don't tell him anything other than that Roxy’s got a better half, now, a Quidditch player too. He doesn't ask many questions.

(So, once again, she is Roxanne. And that's the end of it.)

.

On Roxanne's wedding day, Fred waits by the doors of the church, and he says, "Well, Grandma Weasley's going to have enough great-grandchildren anyway."

It's the best day of her life. She wishes she could paint in her dress, but Charlotte won't let her, probably with good reason.

Mariella looks stunning in her amber and gold and Fred stares a bit too long.

It's a nice life, the best life, and later, Roxanne goes by a different name altogether: Mummy.

Roxanne finally does another picture of words and fireworks, like the one that used to be on her wall, using italics and watercolours; she uses red, and gold, and amber, and brown, and  _Charlotte_  and  _Mariella_  and  _Fred_  and  _Roxanne_. And she loves it too much to sell it. Charlotte hangs it on their wall, and they don't speak of it again.

They're Charlotte and Roxanne Goldstein-Weasley, and hell, don't you know they  _shine_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is currently being subtly reworked, so please check back for updates on its edits. This chapter is: REVISED.


	3. Harlequin

Albus Severus Potter is  _brilliant_.

He just...  _is_.

He's handsome – of course he is, he's just like his father, don't you know? – and he's brave – a Gryffindor to the core, who could expect anything else? – and he's intelligent – almost a Ravenclaw, that one, but he won't be, surely? – and he does a mean Bat-Bogey Hex, of course – his mother is Ginny Weasley, do you remember?

Albus is brilliant and daring and, okay, maybe he's shy, and he's bitter, and he's  _corrupt_ ; but that doesn't show yet, because don't you know he's just eleven?

His brother is oh-so-perfect James Potter, but James is arrogant, and he's a rebel, and Albus won't ever be that.

His sister is oh-so-perfect Lily Potter, but she's too grown up for her age and never had a childhood, so Albus won't end up like her.

His parents are oh-so-perfect Harry and Ginny Potter, but they're getting a divorce, did you know? Didn't work out, they said. Never meant to be, they said. Parted on good terms, though, still friends. Friends who fight and shout and scream and can't stand to be in the same room as each other.

But the Prophet never lies, so why would you believe that?

Albus leaves his father behind, waving from the station, and sits alone in his carriage. His brother James has other friends, another life, and he is not James Potter.

He sits on the stool, and he feels a bit braver, a bit bolder, knowing that his Daddy won't care if Albus is put in Slytherin. Does that make him more of a Gryffindor? He hopes so. Oh, how he hopes so.

" _SLYTHERIN_!"

But it's still not Gryffindor, and Albus can't help but feel a little disappointed.

James doesn't talk to him for a week, but eventually finds him again, wraps him in a hug and tells him he's an idiot. He says fourth year's definitely going to be the best, now that his little brother's home, where he belongs.

Albus nods and smiles, like he's expected to, and pretends like he doesn't want to wear red. The harlequin in his eyes says otherwise.

He survives in Slytherin, though, with a mix of cunning, bribes, the Potter name and just being  _Albus_. He changes a bit, over the year; James asks what's wrong. Albus blanks him with pride, and returns to silver and green with a smile.

"He's so distant," Lily sings when they return for the summer, and James grunts – a typical stereotypical Quidditch player grunt – "We don't know him anymore." Albus stops trying to understand his siblings.

Because Albus is  _daring_ , and Albus is  _brave_... he just belongs in Slytherin.

.

Second year is a flash of harlequin and gold, but Albus is at home here, with aloof Imogen Parkinson, intelligent Raquel Pucey, sly Rory Zabini and maybe even handsome Scorpius Malfoy.

Albus makes friends in his house, enemies in his house, and alliances in the others, and it seems as though being in Slytherin is just a game of chess. You play until you win, or your own king falls. He has  _connections_  now; not just  _Harry Potter_  and so on, but real connections, with underground missionaries and contacts and fifth years with fake IDs.

Albus Severus Potter has made a name for _himself_ , carved in harlequin stone.

Every minute he has to fight; they all do. Slytherin does not mean what it once did, and while Slytherins always look after their own, this time round they _have_ to. Or they die.

A few students go missing, and no one thinks anything of it. The Slytherin Prefects do five dormitory checks a night and still a student dies. Albus can see that they are only trying to care.

A Gryffindor is a murderer. Albus heard him gloating, how he strangled that girl in her bed, how she slithered like Slytherin scum.

For once in his life, he does not see harlequin – he sees _red._

.

Third year means Lily Potter and playing with the  _big boys_  now; Albus tries out for the Quidditch team and ends up as a Beater. It isn't his first choice, but they say he's got potential, he's got talent, and that's good enough for him. Besides, James is only a Keeper.

He needs to protect his sister, and he’ll do it any way he can.

"Al," Scorpius says, when Albus falls in too deep and almost drags little Lily with him, "I think you've gone too far. The Parkinsons and Zabinis are one thing, but my dad, Al? My  _grandfather_? You don't know what they're capable of, mate."

"They can’t do much from behind bars," Albus replies, but it's empty.

If Scorpius Malfoy can see through him, he's in trouble.

He spends the summer holidays of third year stepping up his Potions effort. Albus figures that, if he can't protect the world, he can at least rule some of it.

(Teddy walks in once, when he’s cursing at a potion gone wrong. He picks up a book and turns the page in disgust. “I suppose it’s easier for you,” he comments, and Albus hmms, looking up at him. The tall boy with pain black hair and an uneasy expression. “To look at potions all day, if you don’t have to take them,” he explains.

Albus makes himself a promise he knows he can’t ever keep.)

Some of his products, Albus sells on the market – the black market, of course – and others he stores, ready for later. He invents and creates and the world is his oyster, here in his smoky room with just a cauldron for company.

But it's not a bad life.

.

Fourth year begins, and the teachers remain suspicious and the other students scared, but what can Albus say? It's good business. Illegal, but good.

“Have you heard what the papers are saying?” Scorpius asks, quiet blue eyes narrowed at his friend. He’ll never understand, Al decides, because his only rebellion is his friendship with a Potter. Scor was never meant for greater things.

Scorpius nods his acquiesce, and turns back to his Muggle literature.

Christmas of fourth year is – for lack of a better word – hectic. Albus' parents  _may_  have found his secret stash of highly illegal Potions ingredients and wide array of Muggle drugs.

Albus doesn't return to Hogwarts for the rest of the year – the rumours he  _does_  return to are surprisingly inventive and he almost feels proud of his harlequin house – and spends it being home schooled with frequent visits from both magic and Muggle therapists.

Whispers tell him that they think his sister is going insane; whispers tell him that Jamesie boy is packing up his stuff from Dad’s place. Whispers say that James has gotten himself into something not even a Potter can wriggle their way out of. But they are only that – whispers.

They tell the family that they send him to rehab, but Mum won’t let him out of her sight.

Her nails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, whenever he tries to leave. He’s worried, but he can’t say it. Can’t ever say it, because there are ears everywhere, even here.

.

Fifth year is surprisingly uneventful.

He sleeps his way through the Slytherin girls – Albus won't go that far for rebellion, he tells himself, despite –

He dates a few Ravenclaws who think he’s the right side of dangerous but he refuses to settle down.

It's in the summer holidays before sixth year when Albus escapes Grimmauld Place, which is Dad's house now, who they live with now. Darling Daddy dearest, who's having an affair with some posh twat he won't tell anyone about. He roams around London, sitting in cafes and bookshops and pretending that he's worth something.

Then he meets Alice.

Alice lives just inside London, and she is  _absolutely gorgeous_. Her dark hair is out of control, she wears harlequin glasses, she doesn't have dimples, and her obsession isn’t Muggle literature, but Muggle science. Because Alice is a Muggle.

She spends summer days telling Albus about Muggle Chemistry and Physics and suddenly, Potions becomes something else entirely.

.

At school, they write letters weekly – Albus sneaks down to Hogsmeade every Friday and posts his letters in the Muggle post-box kept there for the Muggleborn students – and everyone is surprised. Because Albus never stops. He never stops for anyone, not any girl, not any friend. Only Scorpius has ever been able to hold him place for longer than he wants.

Albus tries to get his life back on track, one way or another, and doesn't hold press interviews or photo shoots and runs away from cameras rather than chasing them with his middle finger raised. He really does try.

He tells himself that it’s for her.

Sixth year flies by and he can never really tell you why.

Scorpius is acting strange, blowing off Albus’ cousin and spending too much time around his little sister. (He tells himself he’s not jealous.) Lily's labelled as crazy and James is long gone, hasn't written in weeks, but Albus doesn't have the heart to ask  _why_.

.

Seventh year begins, and times runs away with him. NEWTs loom and he almost panics – he loses thousands of galleons in the process and stops writing to Alice.

He flirts round Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and tries to forget about the Muggle girl from just inside of London.

Albus runs away, though, on his last Christmas Day at Hogwarts, and eats Brussels sprouts and turkey at Alice's house with her Muggle family and little Muggle house in her little Muggle street on the Muggle side of London.

She doesn't like him because he's a Potter, or because he's a Slytherin, but because he's  _Albus_. She doesn't know about the war, and if Albus has his way, she never will. He wonders why any of this matters to him.

He returns home for Boxing Day and his mum cries.

Albus eventually gets onto the Hogwarts Express for the last time and sits with warm Imogen Parkinson, caring Raquel Pucey, cheerful Rory Zabini and best friend Scorpius Malfoy. He's in his element.

He's going home.

.

Albus carries on Potions after school, and his complex underground system becomes something more – Albus' Potions are now legendary, the best in the trade, and his parents are almost proud. He says – he promises – that he’ll even cure lycanthropy. One day. If he dares to hope.

Alice smiles when she sees him and asks how his day was, and Albus lies every time because he  _just can't tell her_. Alice meets his parents and looks Harry in his harlequin eyes and tells him to be proud of his son, no matter what.

James asks him why he's pretending.

One day, he holds Alice's hand and he tells her  _everything_ ; about the world she'll never be a part of, a war she didn't live through, and about a boy she thought she knew.

Alice is a Muggle and she doesn't understand their world, and maybe she never will, and Albus is famous when he doesn't want to be, and he's amazing at Potions and a narcissist and corrupt.

But, in the end, they're Alice Kowalski and Albus Potter, and they are  _brilliant_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is currently being subtly reworked, so please check back for updates on its edits. This chapter is: REVISED.


	4. Aureolin

Hugo Weasley is  _different_.

He's controversial and critical and analytical, but he's contradictory and he's clever and he's caring and you'll never know a better friend – brother – cousin –  _boy_. He cares too much what other people think and – _yes, yes, he cares too much_.

Rosie's going places; Mummy's not so sure but Daddy's telling her to  _go get 'em, tiger!_

Hugo's curled up near the fireplace with a fantasy novel; Mummy thinks he's going to be a Ravenclaw but Daddy's telling him to  _go get some fresh air, for Merlin's sake, no – don't do that, Hugo, be a normal boy._

Normal boy.

They say he's practically a Squib – even though that's forbidden territory now, especially after – well. If his parents hadn’t watched him steal a pile of books from a shop by making them invisible, he could’ve had a very different upbringing indeed.

But Hugo gets his Hogwarts letter just the same; once he's alone in his little aureolin room, he sits on his bed and maybe, just maybe, starts to cry, because he's still not good enough.

"I'll get Hufflepuff, Rosie," Hugo whispers to his sister in the dead of the night, on the 31st of August. Because Hugo Weasley is  _not good enough_ ; maybe he never will be. He isn't like the rest of his family; he isn't Teddy or James or Fred or even Rose. He's not a Gryffindor.

"And?" Rose asks. "Roxanne's a Hufflepuff." They leave the rest unspoken, because Roxanne is amazing and she's brilliant and she may even be getting out of this family.

Anyway, Mummy's probably right; he'll probably be a Ravenclaw. Books and cleverness; well, what else does he have?

Hugo just wants Daddy to be proud of him. He wants to prove himself.

People forget what happens behind closed doors because they have their own choices, their own lives, their own doors. Maybe he's clever, and maybe he's even going to try... But Hughie's not Rosie, however much he tries.

And Hugo sits on the stool and thinks of pride.

" _HUFFLEPUFF_!"

He's still a little shocked; after all, Ravenclaw seemed most likely. Molly's a Ravenclaw and she seems happy, in her own little world of dance and music, Lysander Scamander and beauty.

But aureolin Hufflepuff is where he's placed, and aureolin Hufflepuff is where he belongs.

At Christmas, Mummy's still surprised and Daddy doesn't talk much; though he does say it's better than Slytherin. But he says it too loud, and Uncle Harry doesn't talk to him for weeks. Al and Lily are Slytherins. They're cousins;  _family_. Hugo starts to think that maybe Daddy doesn't know best.

Hugo returns for the rest of his first year, and he even makes a few friends – Evangeline (who prefers Evie), and Caelan (who prefers not to talk at all).

.

Second year means secrets and snarky comments, and did you know, Hughie dear, that growing up isn't all fairytales and forks in the road?

It also means Rosie starting to flip her hair and paint on her smile, wearing aureolin lip gloss and another's mask, and Hugo starts to feel as though he's slipping. After all, what kind of child can hang on that tight? Definitely not him. And definitely not Rose.

Evie says, " _It's a just phase,_ " and Caelan decides not to worry about girls until he can understand them; which will be  _never_ , so Hugo doesn't really believe him.

He is losing his sister, seeing her slip away like mist through his fingers. He misses her, but her cousins don’t seem to notice or don’t seem to care. Rosie lies and says she's in all the magazines, and she says she's got a boyfriend, but Hugo knows better.

Right?

.

Third year begins, and suddenly – just like that – girls come into the picture. There are the stunning Ravenclaws (because we all know that they're not just brains), and the pretty Gryffindors (who are more than just pretty faces) and the breath- taking Slytherins (who will take your breath in a heartbeat if you let them).

And aureolin Hufflepuffs, of course, who sit next to you in lessons and smile shy little smiles and maybe help you with your homework and say,  _"Us ‘Puffs have to stick together, right?"_

But Lily is getting lost in the tide and Hugo's cousins aren't his cousins anymore; they're the people he sees at Christmas and maybe birthdays, but not the ones he played hide and seek with when they were little, or the ones he told all his secrets to.

He doesn't try out for Quidditch, and Al maybe claps him on the shoulder as he walks past from the Slytherin try-outs, his broom held casually over his shoulder.

And Hugo sits in the stands and thinks of family.

He smiles for the rest of the day.

.

Fourth year, and Evie starts getting quiet and Caelan goes to Hogsmeade on dates with stunning Ravenclaws and pretty Gryffindors and friendly Hufflepuffs and  _definitely_  not Slytherins. Hugo thinks – thinks too much – and he comes up with so many scenarios it makes his head spin.

Just for a second, he gives up.

He has to escape the dormitory – and he can't go to the library where each book whispers  _mother_ , or the kitchen, where each house elf murmurs  _father_ , or even the Great Hall, where every student thinks  _Rosie_. He sneaks into the prefects' baths.

He runs the tap to think of how many times he's let someone down.

And Hugo sits in the bath and thinks of suicide.

They return after Christmas, and who is Hugo to say anything?

Easter comes and goes and maybe – just maybe – Hugo kind of starts to stare too long at breath taking, not-so-aureolin Kathleen Greengrass (Daphne Greengrass never was one to be tied down). But not really.

Slytherins are off-limits, Hugo, don’t you know?

Caelan almost steals Evie's voice (because she doesn't speak now and he speaks too much) and Hugo doesn't know who to talk to, because no one will listen to him. He thinks that Al's getting his life back on track (maybe) but who knows with Al, really?

He finds Lily on a staircase one day, curled into herself. He unfurls her fists and holds her hands in his. Hugo thinks it’s best not to ask why she’s crying.

.

September, Fifth Year; Rosie's not Head Girl, but she's walking down red carpets in both the Muggle and magic worlds, so she doesn't need another tiara. Al is Head Boy and everyone knows it's so the Headmistress can keep a closer eye on him.

At Christmas (a time for  _family_ ), Dad shouts at Rosie – talks of " _inappropriate_ " and " _disappointed_ " and " _think of your mother_ " – and Rosie shouts back – arguments of " _friendships_ " and " _fame_ " and " _what would Uncle Harry think_?"

Mum whispers with Hugo – murmurs of " _education_ " and " _romance_ " and " _he's your_ father _, Hugh_ " – and Hugo stays silent, because what would he say?

Would he say that Rosie's going to do whatever she likes, whether Dad likes it or not, and that Mum's accepted that now? Would he tell Mum that Dad doesn't mean it, but he  _does_?

So Hugo says nothing, ponders over Kathleen Greengrass and waits.

They return after New Years, and Caelan proudly adds another notch on his aureolin bedpost - how can you be proud of  _that_? - but doesn't say a word. Evie bursts in like a hurricane, swearing and fuming and making more noise than she has in weeks.

She screams " _disappointed_ " and " _inappropriate_ " and " _do you even know what you're doing_?"

Caelan, surprisingly, shouts right back, with things like, " _education_ " and " _romance_ " and " _maybe I can do what I like!_ "

Hugo watches on and thinks of  _friendships_  and  _fame_  and how  _an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind_ , but at least it won't have to watch any longer.

Because Evie is in love with Caelan and Caelan doesn't notice, can't notice, because all those girls keep getting in the way.

And Hugo sits on the floor and thinks of love.

.

In sixth year, he vows to watch over Lily, but if Lily doesn't want to be watched... She disappears into the shadows and Hugo can't follow her because he's afraid of the dark.

This year, though, seems better, fuller, freer; Evie talks more and Caelan sleeps around less, and it seems better. It always seems better. Until Hugo and Evie walk into his dorm room to find Caelan fucking Kathleen Greengrass into the ( _Hugo's_ ) mattress.

Hugo stands by the door and Evie leaves, and Caelan turns around with an apologetic smile. And Hugo opens his mouth – he wants to swear and fume and shout, but what right does he have?

He leaves, but he leaves it too long, because by the time he comes back to the dorm, Caelan is gone and the door to their bathroom is open.

He doesn't even check her pulse, or untie the rope, or even cry; Hugo just watches her swing, feet hovering above the ground, aureolin and silent, looking for all the world like she did when she was alive. And Hugo sits on his bed and thinks of breaking.

The school flutters and the Headmistress tries to keep it  _hush hush_ , at least until the morning. Caelan walks into the room and finds that Hugo hasn't moved.

"Jeez, who died?"

"Evie."

.

Seventh year begins, without Evie and without Caelan (who decides not to come back after summer), and everyone is silent - silent to remember the girl Evie had become and the boy Caelan used to be.

Except for Hugo.

Hugo flitters from person to person, offers his sympathies, his regrets. He gives more pats on the backs and empathetic gestures than he has in the entirety of his life.

He goes to study groups and he partners people in lessons who used to sit next to Evie; he doesn't  _replace_  her, never that, but rather expands and fills the gap where she used to be, pouring love and regrets and hope into it with pride.

Maybe Hugo even makes a name for himself.

One day, he finds Kathleen sobbing in one of the bathrooms, and she looks up at him, and says, "It was all my fault," because she is not stupid, by any means, and everyone  _knew_ , after all.

"I'd like to go home, now."

Hugo leads her to the Headmistress, and Kathleen hugs him before stepping into the Floo, the tears drying on her face and the shivers in her hands ceasing. Headmistress McGonagall nods at him gently, and he smiles as the green light flares, and he is left alone.

Slowly, he walks all the way up the Astronomy tower. He looks down, for a moment, before shaking his head.

And Hugo looks up at the aureolin sky and begins to cry.

Christmas comes, and Kathleen returns and Caelan doesn't; Hugo keeps going to study groups and their numbers grow. He's almost popular, now, and it's odd. But nice, in a way, that people like him for  _him_.

They struggle through NEWTs and Kathleen kisses him on the cheek, softly, and that kiss says all the things she wouldn't, and all the things he couldn't.

Rosie makes it big and falls in love –  _Hugo always knew she would_  – and Al introduces his girlfriend –  _Alison, Hugo thinks, or something like that_  – and Lily finds Quidditch again –  _she always had it in her_  – and piece by piece, their family spellotape the cracks and  _Reparo_  the breaks and kiss the stitches better.

Hugo leaves school with a fond smile and a haunted past, and starts anew. His mum doesn't trust Kathleen, but Dad gets on with her well, surprisingly, and she teaches him a few things too.

Caelan sends an owl.

And Hugo sits on his window ledge and thinks of the future.

.

He moves out of the house and in with Kathleen, and he keeps a Muggle picture of Evie laughing on the mantelpiece. Every time he walks past it he swears it waves, and Kathleen doesn't say anything, but smiles, as if it's a secret.

Hugo joins the Ministry – after his exemplary NEWTs, of course – and works his way up, and up, Kathleen glowing at his side and Caelan healing in the background and Evie probably watching over them all with a sarcastic smile.

He's next in line for Ministry of Magic, and no one even thinks to object.

They move on with life, even though Caelan doesn't talk quite so much and Kathleen shines in Slytherin silver and Hugo hangs on for the ride in Hufflepuff aureolin.

He finds that he doesn't mind.

Because Hugo is different and contradictory and he cares too much, but Kathleen is clichéd and careful and doesn't care at all; they balance each other out, like it was written in the stars by Evie herself. He sits hand in hand with the girl he intends to marry, and yes, growing up isn't all fairytales, but that doesn't mean he can't have one.

And Hugo stands up, and faces the world with a smile. They are Hugo and Kathleen Weasley, and they are  _different_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is currently being subtly reworked, so please check back for updates on its edits. This chapter is: REVISED.


	5. Emerald

 

 

Lily Potter is...  _insane_.

She's a twisted flash of eccentric summer smiles and wide brown eyes, flyaway auburn hair and emerald writings on her wrists. She's a personification of promises and  _being yourself_ , and Auntie Luna would be proud, sweetie, because Lily Luna Potter is  _special_.

Her Daddy loves her – because he never got to be her, and maybe she has a chance – and her Mum's proud of her – her little Lily Luna, she's going places, going  _far_  – and her brothers admire her – she's their annoying little brat of a sister, but they've got it better than most – and Lily doesn't care either way, because she's  _Lily_.

Maybe she shouldn't tap out the rhythms in her head, or talk about Nargles, and maybe her socks should match, but who cares?

Lily's only eleven; she's got time to grow up.

First year begins, and as Lily sits on the old stool, Professor McGonagall hovering over her with a smile, she feels stuck in the middle. James on one side – glowing Gryffindor gold and rebellious red – and Albus on the other – sly Slytherin silver and gorgeous green – and plain little Lily, caught between the two.

She realises that this is what the world looks like when you have no clue what you're doing.

" _SLYTHERIN_!"

Lily almost expected Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff; one of those little pointless houses that people congratulate you for. But it's Slytherin, and she sees the Hat's point, so she goes along with the tide and hopes that she won't go under.

She can't swim.

(James will never stop seeing this as a betrayal.)

First year flies by and Lily learns that her big-brother Al (an empty, lonely boy) has a reputation here. He's powerful, not like at home, where he's awash with cousins and Weasley red. Here, they both shine  _emerald_.

The summer after, Lily brushes up on her Quidditch – there are two openings in the autumn, a Chaser and a Keeper, and she wants that Chaser position so bad she thinks her heart might snap, just like her sanity. She writes all over her new broom and her mother shouts at her and James garbles something she can't understand.

But she's  _Lily Potter_ , and they should know better by now.

She's made for summer days and insanity.

.

Al is a Beater and self-proclaimed Slytherin prince, so Lily does get in at the start of her second year, but it's as a Keeper, not a Chaser.

It's kind of ironic, and she loves it. (And maybe it will make James love her.)

Second year, and Lily decides to be herself. She sneaks into fifth-year Astronomy lessons – she learns all about the moon – and misses Transfiguration and writes all over her dorm walls. Her dorm-mates half love her and half hate her and Lily honestly can't tell the difference.

At Christmas lunch, Lily mutters about beetles under the table and how James' wings are falling off, but Mum and Daddy don't pay attention because they're fighting over who gets custody of the Brussels sprouts.

Then they find Al's stash of illegal potions and drugs and whatnot, so Lily happily fades into the background, and James forgets to ask what's wrong because he's too caught up in the  _unforgivable_ , and they think no one knows.

.

Third year rolls around, and James leaves school with a few more NEWTs than expected, no idea about his future and a promise to never come back.

He leaves and takes _her_ with him – and this is the biggest betrayal of all.

All of Lily's friends are getting  _boy_ friends now, but Lily doesn't really see the point, apart from the kissing. Which is just a trading of saliva in the first place. She tells them that and they start to think that maybe Lily  _is_  crazy.

That summer, Lily runs away – the Daily Prophet just posted a front-page article about Mum and Daddy's  _real_  divorce and life has been hectic – and Al's too busy pulling disappearing acts and god knows what back alley James is in at the moment, so nobody really finds her.

Lily comes back, of course, and runs to her mother's arms, who tells her that Daddy's found someone else now but she doesn't care, really. Daddy's all Mum thinks about, years after the divorce papers were filed.

Lily thinks of summer and wonders if Mum's just as insane as she is.

.

Fourth year begins and Lily starts to climb her way up the social ladder. She just as insane as always, but she's  _using_  it now, so she takes her place as Slytherin princess and she kind of loves it.

Al hides behind some mask he's created over the summer and ignores the new round of cameras in their faces, but Lily learns to enjoy it and makes a scandal out of whatever she can. She becomes  _associates_  with Scorpius, a boyfriend of Rosie's and a friend of Al's, and learns that you can still be alone in a crowded room.

It's maybe almost kind of sad.

Exams are creeping up and Loony Lily is feeling a little more crazy than usual, images scratching behind her eyes. She sleeps with Scorpius Malfoy, and vaguely thinks that he tastes like summer. He reads her Muggle poetry but like always, he never stays for long.

Lily never tells Rosie, or Al, or even herself. She blocks it out of head until it's three months later and she's still throwing up in the bathroom.

She's fifteen, and pregnant, so what did you expect her to do?

.

By the end of summer, she is starting to show, and her father is frowning, and her mother is absent, and her brothers are none the wiser.

It’s hard, she thinks. It’s just always so hard.

Lily can't look after a baby; she can barely look after herself. What would the papers say then? Rita Skeeter would have headlines galore. She's insane – she belongs in a white room with white bed sheets and a straight jacket, not coloured walls and baby blankets and a  _baby_.

So in the autumn of her fifth year, she has a Muggle abortion. Lily never tells Scorpius (or Rosie, or Al, or anyone at all) and kind of almost maybe regrets it for the rest of her life.

She cries on the entrance to the Astronomy tower, and it is Hugo who prises her fingernails from the palms of her hands, who unfurls the snarl from her lips. She is so _angry._ She hates the way she needs to be validated by a boy, she hates the way her own body is rebelling against her. She hates the way that her childhood is slipping by headline by headline.

She hates the way she could feel the life beneath her fingertips. She hates the way she needs other people to feel alive.

She hates the way other people would call her murderer, spit on her, hate her, but she knows that’s not true. She’s not only saving her baby from a life of resentment but she is saving herself. Sometimes, she tells herself, head buried on Hugo’s oblivious shoulder, it’s enough to save yourself.

Lily thinks she likes the name Summer.

.

Sixth year starts, and for once, Lily is the only Potter at Hogwarts. Hugo starts watching her a bit more – worried, she presumes – and she becomes a little more wild, a little more dangerous. She hangs Amelia Eckleston from the Astronomy tower for fun, and can't explain to Headmistress McGonagall  _why_.

She gets chucked off the Quidditch team and they never do find a better Keeper.

At Christmas – the usual family gathering, you understand, with a few hidden extras – Lily shags Lorcan Scamander, even though he's twenty-four, and regrets that, too.

Lily returns to her sixth year and falls apart, piece by piece, and thinks about her brothers – Al's cleaned up his act a bit, but it's only a matter of time before his girlfriend finds the heroine or the wand – and Jamsie dearie, well, the family don't talk about him, and her beloved parents – one insane, and one who never got a chance to be normal anyway.

They're all freaks in their own way, ever since Daddy got chucked in that cupboard.

.

Suddenly, it's her last year and Lily finds out that Rosie broke up with Scorpius over the summer – caught snogging some fifth year _boy_ , can you believe it? – and she reinvents herself, not really thinking of anyone or anything in particular.

 _Really_.

Lily wears Muggle pantomime sunglasses and thigh-high leather Muggle boots and she makes a name for herself. She stills sings 'Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds' at the breakfast table and sees dark things around the corners, but she's _Lily Luna Potter_ , darling, and don't you know that she's the exception to every rule?

It's only her and Hugo and Louis and Lucy left now, and Louis’s got problems of his own, Hugo's off in his own little world, Lucy's doing everything to scratch her name away, and Lily's  _Lily_.

Seventh year drags its feet, and it is still only Halloween when she ties Aubrey MacMillan to the entrance hall doorway with his pants around his ankles because he dared to smack her on the arse and call her _delectable_. He should’ve known better, she says, and makes sure that the curse she gives him is contagious.

Daddy is called, because the school is  _concerned_  for her (and they both know the only reason she's still there is because of the last name she didn't choose.)

Daddy doesn't say anything, at all really, but traces the various-shaped scars that litter her forearms with something like reverence in his emerald eyes. Then he tells her, quietly, that he hated summer, when he was younger. He liked autumn leaves and Hogwarts snow and maybe even springtime in Hogsmeade, but he hated summer.

Daddy says he changed his mind the day he met her, because she reminds him of summer, and he loves her, does she know?

Daddy always understands.

Lily tells him she's doing well (which means that she's really not) and that she'll get her act together (which tells him that she's  _scared_ ) and says that Mum's cooking isn't a patch on his (which admits that she's missing him) and asks after Al (and doesn't mention James) and Daddy reads between the lines, and says, " _Okay_."

Lily sobs in his arms and thinks that maybe insanity is just a state of mind.

So she finishes Hogwarts with NEWTs in Charms and Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, and Lily's kind of happy with her lot.

.

She spends six months hunting down James and – well.

She hunts down James and sits on his lap and asks him how he ended up the most normal of all of them. He laughs and asks Lily to stay, but she declines. She's said her piece, her work is done, and maybe Daddy will phone him with an open mind and maybe Mum will think of him with an open heart, and Al will come around, Jamesie, he will.

He will.

Lily promises to tell him a story, one day, of a little girl who falls in love with summer. James says that all fairytales need a happy ending, so she can't tell him just yet.

She needs a career, Mum tells her the next summer when she still hasn't moved out, past staying out all night, painting her room black and emerald, and raiding the fridge at four am. The only things she's ever been good at are flying, breaking hearts and being  _wild_.

So Lily chooses Quidditch.

She plays on the reserve team of the Appleby Arrows, and falls in love with the game all over again. She writes all over her broomstick in swirling emerald and begins to feel at home.

One of the girls Lily plays with – Charlie Something-Or-Other – tells her that they're getting a new manager for the reserves. A posh bloke, she says, with a shy little smirk and too much hair gel.

It can only be Scorpius Malfoy.

Scorpius is charming and gorgeous and ultimately  _Slytherin_ , but he's got a sensitive, determined side that seems to only come out when he's managing.

Lily falls a lot in love with him, and you never know; maybe Scorpius falls a little bit in love back.

Rosie's happy for them and, and Charlie Something-Or-Other soon progresses into the main league and becomes Charlotte Goldstein-Weasley. Roxanne says something about betraying Weasleys and Potters everywhere but that Scorpius is good for her or some shit like that.

Al can't really talk 'cause he's got that Muggle bird back home. That’s what she tells herself.

Molly pinches Lily's cheeks and hugs Scorpius (though Lily can see the whispered threats and the way Scorpius pales) and Fred says that he considered doing the big-brother speech, but bypasses it in favour of a clap on the shoulder and the promise to bring him to his knees if he hurts her.

"And not in the nice way," Fred adds, and Lily slaps him, then turns to James, who hovers in the background now, accepted and forgiven, but still betrayed.

He says he wants to hear the story now; the story of a little girl with emerald writings on her wrist who fell in love with summer.

Lily looks at Scorpius and smiles her eccentric summer smile, and says, _"As soon as it’s finished. Promise."_ And their love may be insane, but isn't that the point?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is currently being subtly reworked, so please check back for updates on its edits. This chapter is: REVISED.


	6. Cerulean

Louis Weasley is...  _difficult._

Ever since the age of eleven, he has drawn drama to him like a moth to a flame, spun lies out of cobwebs and fairy tales out of dust. Louis creates the  _impossibly magical_ out of the  _believably ordinary._ It's a talent he won't learn to control for a while.

He's never been a normal boy; he's a  _Weasley,_ for gods' sakes, with golden hair and cerulean eyes and a shy smile and too many cousins to count (though it's ten, if you are).

Louis is going to either thrive or fall, at Hogwarts, but he's going to throw himself off of the Astronomy tower anyway and see how well his wings work.

He gets his Hogwarts letter (greeted with a hug and a sigh of relief, a tear and a mumble of confusion, all of which he ignores, and his mother strokes his head and tells him how  _proud_ she is) and prepares his trunk. He forgets socks and loses his wand, but nevertheless, by the time it's 10:59, he's sitting in a compartment opposite two people he doesn't get to know.

And to be honest, doesn't care to.

But he sits there and makes polite small talk, as he is wont to do, and accepts his fate.

Walking into the Great Hall, he takes a deep breath. He feels almost like a Muggleborn, realising that magic exists for the  _first time._

Because magic exists here, in this hall, with smiling faces and friends and a sky that glows brighter than any spell. Magic thrives here, where failures vanish and are forgotten. The memorial plaque above the teachers' table is almost unreadable in all its bronzed glory.

Magic lives and dies at Hogwarts and Hogwarts alone. Louis thinks the rest of the world needs a little magic too.

" _Weasley, Louis!"_

Every head in the hall snaps up. He is one of the last Weasleys to be Sorted; one of the last to walk up and feel that rejection. He takes a deep breath. He isn't ready for this; the humiliation of Hufflepuff, however happy his cousins there are; the scorn of Slytherin, however special the Potter children are; the rejection of Ravenclaw, however radiant they are.

Louis isn't ready for the glory of Gryffindor, because he has seen the broken smiles of the family who have given in, who have led their way into traditions and their parents' names. He doesn't want to join the damned.

He isn't ready.

" _RAVENCLAW!"_

However, he isn't surprised.

The first term goes quickly, and when he gets home for Christmas, he goes to his cerulean room. And he cries.

He cries all night, in a panicked way, not in a sombre way, and he feels like he can't breathe and he can't see and there is a  _weight_ crushing his chest and - and Louis wonders, for a second, if this is what it feels like to be insane.

Because when he was little, his parents took him to see Healers who asked for their autographs and gushed over Louis' pretty blonde hair.

So, instead, they took him to see Muggle doctors, who let him lie down on hard beds and said meaningful words like  _"bipolar"_ and  _"schizophrenic"_ and  _"gender confusion,"_ and suggested things like  _"drugs"_ and  _"sessions"._ Louis just sat politely and listened and now he tries to forget.

Louis returns to Hogwarts unchanged - he mainly stays out of other people's ways, keeping to himself, burying himself in cerulean textbooks and fantasy novels and newspaper clippings of different times.

In the summer, Louis spends most of it in silence. His mother frets and his father is just as sombre, and his cousins send him worried, exasperated looks.

He doesn't eat much, over the course of the holiday. A lot of the time, he sits with his mother while she picks out colours for him to wear, and how  _nice_ it is he spends time with her, now that Victoire's left home and Dom -

Well,  _Dom._

Dom, who gave up her family for a  _love_ she can't hope to understand. She dreams of brown eyes and Paris streets; she hasn't been home for weeks.

And so, his mother dulls in comparison, losing her fight, her spark, and still she frets.

.

When second year rolls about, Louis burns his books.

Instead, he goes to Quidditch games in cerulean blue and visits the house parties and though people still give him side-glances and whisper  _bookworm_ and  _nerd_ behind his back, Louis decides it's better this way.

Then he learns that those little glances mean more than just  _nerd._

Louis learns, that year, that people don't forget and they certainly don't forget. People are little more than animals; they have lost their traditions and their kindness and their fires.

The little glances mean  _insane._ He bows his head against the onslaught of whispers, and his hair starts to cover his face. He doesn't talk any longer.

And nobody ever forgets that.

Summer starts again, and his mother fusses over his hair -  _too short,_ she whispers sadly, stroking the blonde strands,  _but so like mine. So like -_

Tears blur the cerulean and his mother bows her head, pressing kisses to his cheek and saying how  _beautiful_ he is.

Louis notices, when her shaking hand smoothes his trouser leg, that she only keeps two pictures on her night stand; two pictures of little girls who have long since grown out of their little girl dresses and pigtails. They'd look just like him, if -

The gleam returns to his mother's eye, and who is he to say no?

.

And so, people at school begin to call him a  _girl._ Louis has a feminine face, he knows that, with dark lashes and pink lips and pale cheeks. But he's a  _boy_. Really. They say that's what happens when you grow up with  _Veelas_ in your family. They scoff and ask him why he continues to pretend.

And nobody ever forgets that.

Christmas comes -  _they set the table for five, just in case, but eventually, only three seats are filled -_ and once more, his mother looks Louis in the eye. She looks more alive than he can remember.

"Dear, how would you like to look prettier?"

She sets him down in front of her dressing table, and he shakes his head in the mirror, gently at first, then furiously, until he is shaking and crying and his mother holds him close. After that, he complies. He doesn't even cry when she adds blusher to his cheeks and sometimes calls him  _"Dominique."_

The rest of the school year is hell, but Louis can't bear the thought of sitting down in front of his mother, the brave, beautiful Fleur Delacour turned desperate, insane Fleur Weasley, and telling her he's a  _boy._

Until Louis gets home and his mother tilts her head, studying him. He sits down on a dining room chair and she tells him that ladies don't sit that way.

He screams and he shouts; he runs to the sink and scrubs off the make-up. He grabs the kitchen scissors and cuts chunks off his hair, cerulean eyes watering as he does so. Fleur does not watch silently - she shouts and she screams back. She tears the scissors out of his hands and throws them out the window.

It ends with both of them panting heavily, slumped on different sides of the kitchen.

Louis' father finds them, unmoved, an hour later. Gently, he picks up Fleur and places her on the sofa. Then he sits Louis down in one of the wooden chairs, takes out his wand, and fixes Louis' hair. It doesn't cover his face any more.

He can't hide behind the child his mother wanted to have.

.

Louis is still quiet when he gets back to school, for his fourth year - people still whisper, but it's more like,  _did you hear about his mother? Went insane, she did._ Oh,  _poor_ Louis _..._

But the first term goes well; it's when Christmas ends, and Louis is placed with someone else for Transfiguration. A Gryffindor. Charles- Something. Charles- Something doesn't talk to him much, but Charles- Something is rude to the teachers and forgets his work and never stops moving,  _ever._

He's utterly ridiculous and arrogant and - well, Louis is  _entranced._

Charles- Something quickly evolves into  _Charles Edgecombe,_ a boy who smiles at Louis and makes his heart melt.  _Charles Edgecombe_ becomes  _Charlie_ in Louis' head, and a part of him knows he's done for.

The rest of him remains blissfully ignorant. But, like everything, it doesn't last long.

.

The hot, English summer comes and goes (his mother stays in her room, and doesn't come out for days). Fifth year begins without fireworks, but maybe with friends and something a little like young love. Then it all falls to pieces.

There are more whispers in the hallways -  _Louis Weasley's got a crush on Charlie Edgecombe, can you believe it? -_ and suddenly, Charlie won't look at him anymore.

It gets better, slightly, because Charlie even smiles at him now, especially after Christmas, but Louis doesn't think that really matters. His friends still talk to him; they don't care if he's gay. His dad just shakes his head when he hears, from one of Louis' cousins, no doubt.

It was kind of expected, after all.

But Louis sits alone for most of the holidays, because, dear, when it comes down to it, Louis is fifteen years old, gay, and pretty much in love with a boy who can't stand to look him in the eyes.

(When Louis was five, he killed himself.)

He doesn't know what to do.

(He raised two fingers to his head.)

He can't be strong.

(He pulled the trigger.)

Not this time.

(And he whispered,  _"Bang._ ")

.

Sixth year begins, and it's the first time Louis goes to a party - he stays in the cerulean corner, whispers of  _fag_ and  _did you know -_ pushing him there, forcing him into the wall and furthest away from the other occupants in the room.

He gets a letter, half way through the term, to tell him that his mother's been admitted to a hospital. Somehow, Louis knows it's not somewhere as pedestrian as  _St. Mungo's._ Not for his mother.

There is no one quite like his mother.

He doesn't go home for Christmas. A gorgeous, dramatic Gryffindor named Matthew Finnigan asks him what's wrong, one Transfiguration lesson when he won't look away from the blackboard. Louis looks at him back, stunned, and Matthew shrugs, ducks his head, and says,  _"Was only asking."_

Louis hates himself when he realises that he's not over Charlie. Not at all.

(When Louis was seven, he killed the cat.)

And he should be; he really should be.

(He raised two fingers to its head.)

A crush doesn't last this long, does it?

(He pulled the trigger.)

Not just a crush.

(And he whispered,  _"Bang,"_ as he knocked over the bookcase, so that it fell on old Tabitha. He'd screamed. Tabitha whimpered.)

When Louis returns home, his father sits him down at the table. He tells him what a good boy he's been - how  _proud_ he is, because Louis has been so  _brave,_ so  _strong,_ and he strokes his head and starts to cry. Louis sits there, motionless, when his father says mother won't be coming home for the summer.

They go and visit her, in her private hospital. The room is too white, aside from the cerulean tint on his mother's skin. It scares him.

His mother reaches out a hand and tells him how he's  _grown._

She then plays with his hair and frets over how  _short_ it is, and how pale his face has grown. Louis tells her he likes it that way. He says that the girls at school like it too (not that he knows, because girls hold no interest to him, do they?) and his mother's eyebrows thread together in worry.

So Louis leans forward, ever so slowly, and whispers into her ear,  _"What's my name, Mother?"_

She blinks up at him. Her mouth opens slightly, but she falters.

And screams.

The nurses come running in, tearing Louis away from the bedside and out of the room. His father is close to tears, but Louis' face is emotionless.

(When Louis was nine, he killed Dominique.)

That woman isn't his mother.

(He raised two fingers to her head.)

Not anymore.

(He pulled the trigger.)

Mothers recognise their children.

(And he whispered  _"Bang,"_ and told her that he hated her. Her eyes haven't been the same since.)

.

Seventh year begins, and Louis talks more with Matthew - Charlie, who looks at him now, who doesn't say scathing comments to unsuspecting people who simply ask what's _happened,_ is pushed back in his mind, because Charlie has never particularly cared about Louis. His cerulean eyes and cerulean smile have always been cold.

Louis just didn't see it.

Louis is just as quiet as usual, but sometimes, he adds his two Knuts and the class laugh. He's critical and sarcastic and a little bit bewildered, but  _hey;_ at least he's speaking, right?

Matthew -  _Matt,_ the boy insists, over and over - joins him at the Ravenclaw table, amongst cerulean and bronze. There are mutters, but then Matthew offers Louis his toast, so how the hell could Louis care?

Then, one day, the day before the Easter holidays, Matthew  _kisses_ him. He cups his jaw, clenches his fist in his hair, pushes Louis back into the wall (that cerulean corner), but his lips are soft, and hesitant. Questioning. Wondering. Forgiving.

Louis strokes Matthew's face, twists a strand of brown hair around his finger, lets him lean again his shoulder, and  _nods._

When it's the end of the school year, Louis tells Matthew to move in with him.

Because he can return to his empty ghost of a house, with his strangely fragile father and cerulean lunatic mother and pictures of the people his sisters used to be. Or he can finally forget about the boy he was once in love with; the boy who rejected him because he was  _scared._

He can find a flat, and move in with the marvellous boy who might even save him. Matthew agrees, on one condition - he leans close, his lips against Louis' ear, and whispers,  _"Let me help you."_

(When Louis was eighteen, he saved himself.)

Louis hugs him close.

(He raised his hand to his mother.)

Maybe he cries.

(He waved his fingers.)

Matt doesn't let go.

(And he whispered,  _"Goodbye."_ )

Eventually, they are Matthew and Louis Finnigan, and just because they're  _difficult_ doesn't mean they're not worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is currently being subtly reworked, so please check back for updates on its edits. This chapter is: NOT YET REVISED.


	7. Jade

Lucy Weasley is...  _electric_.

She is in a constant state of not-good-enough and youngest-Weasley and she always wonders if this is what Auntie Ginny felt like. She always tries to do better. Her mind is like a cobweb tangled in the corner of a room full of dust and dulled gems that used to shine so much brighter.

Her room has been jade for as long as she can remember. Father dear has always tried to convince her to change it (change  _her)_  and she never gave in.

Maybe she should have.

Lucy feels too much; this is what Molly tells her, over and over. Her mother tells her she doesn't feel enough. Everything is too much and not enough and she is in a constant state of contradictions. Lucy Weasley is super charged and running on empty and hoping she doesn't slow down.

Molly likes to hug her every New Year's morning and likes to kiss her cheek and try to convince her that this year will be better.

She is seven when Molly only nods. She falls down the stairs that morning and breaks her leg and doesn't even cry when her mother tries to tell her it is okay.

They are all relieved the day Lucy receives her Hogwarts letter; she holds it to her chest and smiles at her father and pretends that she will fit in there, in redblueyellowjade. More than she ever did at school; more than she ever did at home.

Electricity and fire run through her veins like blood.

(Molly tells her that diamonds are simply made of carbon; she tells her she is so much more than  _Weasley._ )

But she sits on the Hogwarts Express and they all give her judging looks, wondering which cousin  _this_ one will end up like - will she be a Gryffindor and self-obsessed like Rose or broken like James or obsessive like Victoire?

Will she be a Ravenclaw and caged like her sister or insane like Louis?

Or maybe she's just another Hufflepuff who is explosive like Roxanne and hidden like Hugo.

(They whisper  _jade_ over and over and they talk about those Potter children who are so loud and so angry and Lucy hopes she won't end up like them. Because Lily and Albus will never be as happy as they think they are because the world simply won't let them be.)

The hat still calls out,  _"SLYTHERIN!"_

It is the first time Lucy hates the world but it won't be the last.

Coming home for Christmas is uneventful; Daddy doesn't talk much ( _Molly_ was never in Slytherin) and Mummy tries to smile but-

Well.

So Lucy stays in her jade room, for the most part, and tries to keep the words from scrambling in her head. She stutters when she talks, but in her head, the words flow like poetry and choke out stanzas and she just can't fucking stop them-

There is too much going on in her mind that she can't focus on anything else.

By summer, she decides to write out her thoughts - childish handwriting filling notebooks over and over, and here's the best bit; she doesn't even understand  _why._

.

Second year rolls around and Lucy is... struggling. All of her teachers pull her aside and ask, over and over,  _are you okay?_ She wants to scream "NO!" at the top of her voice, but she can't. Because she is  _fine._ She is not her cousins.

She is fine. Honest.

People always associate her with her  _family_ and everything they're not saying, but truth be told, Lucy doesn't care about Uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny's divorce. She doesn't care about what Rosie's doing and she certainly doesn't care that Molly is happy.

Lucy Weasley is not her family and she certainly doesn't need her family to cure her.

She spends the summer practising spells she shouldn't be using and finds that her favourite is  _Incendio._ She wonders what it means.

.

Suddenly, it's her third year - and everyone talks about  _Hogsmeade_ and  _dates_ and  _boys._ Lucy can't force herself to feel interested, to feel  _normal,_ because she's barely averaging an A in most of her classes and she needs to study.

That's why she doesn't have time for boys and dates and Hogsmeade. Isn't it?

The other jaded girls think she's a little odd, but they don't say much - she's a Weasley, after all, and Weasleys look after their own.

Besides, Lucy's best class is DADA and she knows how to defend herself. She's known for her duels, the best of the best - little Lucy Weasley, the girl who took down a fifth year Gryffindor who tried to tell her she wasn't good enough.

She sees duels as poetry, can write out the spells like song lyrics in her head. It's a story, with a plot and character and hexes that shine like jade and fire.

(Lucy has to refrain herself from setting her opponent on fire. Don't they look so pretty when they're burning?)

But when she get home for the summer, her father doesn't care how good she is at fighting bullies. All he does is fret over Transfiguration and asks how  _on this earth_ is she supposed to get into the Ministry with grades like these?

Mother stays silent and Lucy pretends she can't see her half-packed suitcase in the wardrobe.

.

Fourth year - Lucy gets in a fight with Fred, because who is he to criticize her grades when he's barely going to pass his NEWTs? She tries to pity him, she really does, but she doesn't see what's so wrong about being Fred Weasley. Any Fred Weasley.

(It's a fuck lot better than being Lucy.)

One of the sixth years offers her a cigarette during one of the celebratory parties. (They have one of the best Quidditch teams, and they know it. Mother isn't impressed.) She doesn't say no.

Lucy stares transfixed at the jade glowing end and she doesn't even cough when she raises it to her lips. Suddenly, the world seems so much  _clearer -_ the jumbled words ease and slow and her mind is quieter than it's ever been.

Who would've thought?

She manages to convince a seventh year or two to sell her a few packets, just to get her started - she wasn't going to use the money in Hogsmeade, anyway. And this is an _investment._

She smiles to herself.

By the summer, Lucy is smoking two packs a day - she's sure it will go up to three by September. Her family drive her crazy - words swirl in her head, over and over - words like  _try harder_ and  _be better_ and words that pierce like knives. She is trying.

One day, she stops the cigarettes. She throws her remaining packets out of the window.

But the words - they overflow until they are dripping into her eyes, blurring her vision and painting them across her eyelids.

Lucy writesandwritesandwrites but it's not enough.

The words spill onto her walls in inky jade and the colour runs, itching towards the floor and towards Lucy where they can  _reach_ her and crawl back inside her poor little broken mind. In the end, she breaks; she crawls out of the window and rummages in her mother's prize flowerbeds until she finds all of her cigarettes, the boxes torn and dirty and  _perfect._

(Of course, her family aren't here to see the ink on her hands and the mud on the knees, and so aren't there to ask questions.)

Lucy takes a drag, and the words stop.

.

When she returns for her fifth year, she is up to three packs a day and she's never worked harder. The words seem to flow, and then she's not failing Transfiguration and she's not even failing  _Potions._

But she's fifteen.

Fifteen means first dates and first kisses and gossiping in the dorms, but - but Lucy's never been kissed. All it seems to be is the trading of saliva and tasting what the other person had for breakfast and knowing for  _certain_ whether or not they've brushed their teeth since then.

There doesn't seem to be anything remotely appealing about lips and hands and  _bodies._

Molly tells her she'll grow out of it. She fears she never will.

The other girls tell her, behind jade curtains and with jaded eyes, that she's playing with fire. She doesn't know what she's doing and she's going to get  _hurt_ and they're just trying to help, Lucy, honest. Maybe Lucy doesn't mind.

.

Sixth year is a blur of fire and out-of-control and kisses with dark boys in dark cupboards.

Lucy tells herself that she has to be  _normal -_ she is not going to turn out like her cousins, she's  _not._ (Apart from her cousins are happy.)

But those kisses don't mean anything. She doesn't feel electric when hands are too hot against her hips and too-wet lips are ghosting over hers. And she wonders what's  _wrong_ with her. So she starts writing again. Oh, she still chain-smokes until her fingers are yellow and her lungs are collapsing like Rome,  _but -_

Writing helps. It's always helped.

So Lucy scrawls whatever she can into notebooks and she even writes a  _proper_ story or two; fantasy novels with new and exciting creatures you can't find in textbooks. In some ways, it keeps her sane.

(But her soul just itches to be set on fire.)

Her family is all so  _fucking_ happy and paired off - even Lily, who Lucy always relied on to be more insane than her - has Scorpius and her Quidditch and Lucy has nicotine and notebooks. This is no life; this is hanging on. This is writing and smoking and coughing blood into tissues-

This is what the world looks like when it's dying.

She gets back home for the summer and mummy dearest has moved on to greener pastures. The cigarettes burn jade. Father finds her passed out in a puddle of blood, and this time, doesn't hesitate to Apparate to St. Mungo's. He can't afford to lose Lucy as well.

All her cousins stand at the foot of her bed when they tell her the news.  _Cancer,_ they whisper. It's like a curse.

She cries and she smiles and she realises that this is the first time they have all been in the same room in  _years._ Even during Christmas dinners, one or two or five of them are missing. Sometimes it's just Lucy.

But now they've written her notes and cards, and banners and flowers litter the hospital room until it looks like a meadow. And Lucy can't stop laughing.

Roxanne tells her she knows what it's like to hold a cigarette like it's your best friend and Al whispers his stories of escaping to the Astronomy Tower to forget. And just like that, they're family again and they're bonding over the fact they're more fucked up than any other family in history.

.

Lucy doesn't go back to school.

They put her through chemo (because if wizards could cure cancer, the world would be a very different place) and her family hold her hand throughout it all. Even Mother. Even Molly.

She should feel suffocated. In fact, it's as though she's finally learnt to breathe.

James tells Lucy she has talent after he steals one of her stories, and she blushes as scarlet as his Gryffindor scarf. She writes more and more until Uncle George says he knows a guy who knows a guy who can get her a publisher - and this guy snaps her up in a flash. On her own terms, of course.

She may be lying around in a hospital with no hair and a forgotten jade tie and no boyfriend, but she is not  _useless._ She's a Slytherin, after all.

And it's not long before they announce that Lucy is clear - she's  _free,_ and she can  _breathe._

Molly comes to her on her last night and wraps her into a hug so tight she feels as if her lungs are collapsing again - Molly tells her that it's alright not to like anyone. She says it's okay to be alone, because she's  _not_ alone. And never will be.

She is Lucy Weasley, and she is  _electric._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is currently being subtly reworked, so please check back for updates on its edits. This chapter is: NOT YET REVISED.


End file.
